The Adventures of Sam Spade: Adam Figg Caper

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I got it! Got what, my pet? A bank book, Sam? Well, you must advertise in the Lost and Found right away, Effie, and find the owner. There might be sickness in the family. But it's your bank book, Sam!

What? Uh-huh, it has your name on it. Samuel Spade, a count number four? Forgery somebody's trying to pin something on me lock it up and don't touch it until I get there Did you make a lot of money on this one too?

Got the check right in my pocket 500 bucks. Oh, then we're making more money than a movie star Well, almost and all honestly to 600 last week and 500 this week Yeah, how about that life gives a three-page spread to I spy molten, but we must let it turn our heads heavy No, I gotta stay in there pitching. I'll be right down to pitch my report on the Adam fig caper

National Hammers, America's leading detective fiction writer and creator of Sam Spade, the heart-boiled private eye, and William Speer, radio's outstanding producer, director of mystery and crime drama, join their talents to make your hair stand on end with the adventures of Sam Spade, presented by the makers of wild root cream oil for the hair. You've heard the saying, you never know until you

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of Sam Spade. Oh you're going to love it. Well we got to watch these expenses that either you know is always something. If the tis will be saving, it saves confusion and saves fretting. Mmm, this gadget here, what is it? It's a menorobut.

A what about? It's for busy men like yourself Sam so you don't have to burden your mind with steady details. You see it has this dial on it right here and you drop these little cards in this slot.

You don't have to worry about that. That's for me to take care of. Oh, good. Then, when you come into the office and supposing you have an appointment with Mr. Jones at two o'clock, and you forgot about it, it is dialed to a clock and the little card pops out.

And it says, Mr. Jones on it. How do I remember to dialed to a clock? Oh, well maybe it's in the instruction book. But anyway, now go ahead, Sam, please. The card's right in there.

Dialed to a clock. Go on, Sam. I'm gonna say, yeah. That's like a telephone, Sam. What do I do? I'm thinking. Must have forgotten. Jones, Mr. Jones. Effie, do you think it's dead? Sam, I don't understand it.

It was working perfectly. Well, I'll stick it straight back for a thing in the morning. You'll have to. It'll never find a way itself. You've got your book, sweetheart. Yes, Sam. Perfect. Well, it's all good.

Well, it doesn't matter. October 5, 1947 to Hillary Exxon Esquire from Samuel Spade, license number 1375. Oh honey, it's only a memo robot subject. Adam Thigcaper, dear Mr. Exxon. October 2nd in San Francisco was one of those days that you see blown off the calendar by a gust of wind in the movies to denote the time is passing.

It was a day for scraping off the minutes with a fingernail file and wondering whether to The display ad I paid for on the classified section of the phone book wasn't just a waste of money.

It certainly wasn't the day I'd expect the leprechaun to walk into my office. He said his name was Adam Fake. He said he was the butler at Exxon Manor in Los Nidos. The limousine Mr. Spade is waiting to take you away.

We mustn't keep them waiting, must we? Of course we mustn't. Who mustn't we? Mr Hillary of course sir and old Mr Exxon the old gentleman is very ill. Dr. Feige's office is down the hall turn to your right second door. I assure you sir that Mr Exxon is the best at medical care your duty will be simple to prevent

his death. Do I donate blood or just frighten away the evil spirits? It isn't quite that sir. Someone is trying to kill Mr Exxon he's a very sick man and I'm sure he'd prefer dying from natural causes. Are you at twenty five dollars a day and expenses.

Here is an ample amount in advance. But you should be a special one. The old man is an nasty cantankerous villainous crooked- 500 dollars, please fig! You're talking about the man I love! Los Nidos was at least an overnight taper, so on my way out my lovely and charming secretary, Miss Corinne, handed me a brown paper bag which contained A, one pair of socks, darned,

B, one shirt, ironed, and C, the apple, which he always polishes for me the night before. We arrived at your large southern style mansion, two hours later. Hey! How big were the devil of you being?

Who is it? I can't find the keys to the liquor closet. Where are all the maids? What happened to that cook we hired yesterday? Who is this man? And why is he wearing that necktie?

This is Mr. Stade, sir, the detective. Oh, oh, I'm Hillary Exxon. come in, come in, please. Go out upstairs, fig. See what that girl is doing to my father. I don't believe she's in this at all.

Very good, sir. In here, Mr. Spade. Partly condition of the house. The old man has been firing the servants again. Your father, you mean? Yes, yes. Every time he gets shot at, he fires all the servants.

He gets shot at pretty often? About once a year, in the fall. You always hire an detective? No. Oh, dear. I'm not keeping you up, am I? No, no. Excuse me, please. much worse this time. I can't get any sleep guns going off in the middle of the night.

The whole household disturbed. When and where was he last shot at? Yesterday morning at about half past one. I dug the bullet out of the woodwork myself a 38 caliber embedded in the door frame that leads to Miss K. Wood's room. Oh, that's his nurse. Was she with him at the time? No. No dead sleeps like a baby full of sedatives.

She sees to that. Shot come from outside. Yes, yes, but we found nobody on the grounds. traces of anybody. I don't know whether death knows who shot at him or not he's such a closed mouth-o-dell. You don't care very much for your father. To be frank Mr.

Spade of hating weren't such an effort. I would despise him. He is without a doubt. Well listen, listen. There, there, that's just a sample. Well come on, come on, let's see what's eating him now.

I'm putting Mr. Exon. I can't stand it. another minute yelling, screaming, throwing things. You must have done something to set him off. I didn't, I didn't. This is Mr. Spade, Ms. K. Wood. Oh, detective.

Oh, well, I'll make you happier to know that I'm a private detective, Ms. K. Wood. Oh, Mr. Spade, I only hope you can put that in there. If there's any way at all that I can help, I...

Thanks, I'll see you downstairs after I've talked to the old man. You'd better go in the lone spade. Oh, Ms. K. Wood. Do you have a folk spray downstairs? I seem to be congesting. ammunition. Oh, you. You're a total stranger. Come on in. Don't be afraid, son. Come on over where I can look at you. It's hard to keep my eyes open. Oh, no, I mustn't do that. I mustn't

do that. So you're the detective. That's right, pop. You want to take a little map or something? I'll come back later. Oh, what did I say just now? Come back later? No, no, no, no.

There's no reason for you to come back later. I'll say everything I have to say right now. The shot woke me. I didn't see anything. I don't know anything. I've got a million enemies. I can't remember the names of any of them. Why don't you try to remember? I gotta have them checked.

Wasting your time, Sonny. In my day, I've wiped out a hundred men and I'll outlive anybody who's gunning for me now. It must be proud of you, Passon. Well, Sonny, a past like mine is the finest thing an old man can have.

I've swindled my partners and betrayed my friends. I've turned state's evidence just to see my associate get sent up for 20 years. And they say my wife died under peculiar circumstances and I got rich off her insurance.

Now I'm done talking. Oh, do me in favor, son, please. I've got to get a half hour, 20 minutes sleep alone. You'll keep them out, everybody. Please, will you? Sure, sure, pop. Go ahead, go on, sleep.

Oh, thank you, thank you. Rashes. He closed his eyes, rolled over, and fell into a heavy sleep. I stood there a moment, looking down at the frail, wasted old body. And I cased the room.

And taking the bullet out of the door, Hillary, had done a good job of ruining any chance or might have been approving the direction of the company. I strolled out on the balcony. Let a cigarette and take it in.

And I heard the door open and close, softly behind me. Nurse Caine was at your father's bedside. She was filling out hypodermic from a small violin, bluey's liquid. He didn't awaken when she jabbed it into his arm.

And she saw me standing in the doorway. She hastily dropped the medicine violin to her uniform pocket and came around the bed to meet me. Well, Mr. Speedo, thank heaven. Why, when I saw you standing there in the half night, I thought you might be...

Thought I was who? Why, the man will fire the shot. It was a man? I don't know. I didn't see it happen. I just assumed that you shouldn't have done that. I warned you. Oh, I know.

We're disturbing him. Let's talk outside. To breathe something decide sick room air. I thought you got used to things like that in your profession. Why are you so unfriendly, Mr. Stade? Nurses are human. Aren't detectives.

Try me, sweetheart. I know what you're thinking of me. But after a week in this horrible house, that poor man. He's frightened. He's really frightened. What up? By the shots. Thirty-eight caliber or hypodermic? Surely you don't think that I...

He's supposed to be under sedatives. The doctor's orders. Sorry, sweetheart. It's my job to suspect everybody. Can't you forget your job, even for a moment? Sure. Sure. If you don't mind the fact that I know you're a liar, that I'd make the book you didn't come here primarily as a nurse, and what's worse, your act's not even convincing.

Is it that bad, Sam? Yeah. almost bad enough to be good. I hate you. It was a very satisfactory love scene for both of us. The reasons of her own, Barbara wanted to keep me out of that sick room for a while, and she did.

The reasons of my own, I wanted to get that medicine out of her uniform pocket, and I did. Then, as suddenly as we had fallen into love, we fell out again. After she'd gone to her room, I went back to my sentry duty around the house.

And for a light on the front brand I examined the bottle from which Barbara had taken the injection for your father. It was label, sodium, Thanatol, and had been dispensed by a firm called Ibis Chemicals Limited in Cairo, Egypt.

The screen filled a house high and frenzied. I started running toward Barbara K. Woods room. I slammed the chair's door open and found a light switch. Barbara was setting up right in the center of a bitch.

Her face jerked up so abruptly that it seemed a naked snap. She flexed both hands to her chest, and fell face down among the bed-flows, staining them with her blood. Whether I went through, over, or around the screen that stood between her room and the old man's.

I circled Exxon's bed. He lay on the floor, and he sighed, facing the window. I went outside. A 38 automatic lay on the ground, a few yards away from the building. I put that in my pocket and listened. No shadows moving. Nothing.

Then he was on me before I could be sure he wasn't a medium-sized train. I'm stuck on my cheek, might have been the thing's blood or mine. It gathered me up and bent me back and tore up my throat.

Then I remembered that hands were stronger than fingers. I started with these thumbs. And with any huge body began to twitch. He was holding his fingers and sobbing like a baby. I pulled him up to his feet, poked him in the back of the flat of my hand.

I followed him through an opening in the hedges and down a long, pitch dark lane for the lights of a squat brick house, some on the top of a slight rise. As we approached the door open and light screamed out onto the porch.

A tall man framed in the doorway was the last person in the world I expected to see. Oh Marcus, you brought the master very delightful service, but how much pain he was. Always complaining Marcus.

Welcome Mr. Spade. Come in my dear fellow, come in. I've been expecting you. Come and put you by, by, by, that's being me. And if you don't, uh, Romet Exxon could have you booked for Forgery, uh, blackmail definition of character.

Don't they, my, my Defer? Please, this, this, this is most painful. But if I had but the, the original letter, I could destroy it and go back to the felt. Ah, the felt. What happened to him?

That fig, that, that, that, that stinker stole it. He broke on my home. Are you, uh, taking part shots at all Exxon? Well, don't be a foreman. I would exonter stay alive. I must find out some part of his life which will have an exchange value that will cancel out what he has on me.

By the way, you met Miss K-wood. Mm-hmm. But there's no much he's milking me for $150 a day. Oh. She's supposed to go to the old man by whatever means necessary into talking about his past.

And that information's used to bring to me. That ought to be easy. Exxon Braggs about his past. So far I have learned that Hillary Exxon stole two heifers of the livestock showing at Berlin in 1906.

I feel for you, Captain. I wouldn't get much on the current market, would it? My death fellow, I have a proposition to make to you. Should you fill it out anything that would be of value to me, I'll reward you handsomely.

Maybe something can be arranged, Captain. Good, excellent. May I have your word on that? I'll wear as much time, Captain. I'd better trot on back. No, she was the dosser. And let me warn you, Mr. Spade, if you're ungood, should you ever have a thundervibous wings?

Run. Fleee. I assured him that I would hate his warning, bat him goodnight, and start it back down the lane in the direction of action manner. Business was going on as usual. There were no shots this time, only the screen.

When I got to Barbara's room, you and Adam were standing at a bedside, trying to quiet it down. Well, Mr. Spade, is this the way you guard the house against intruders? Where have you been?

Ask Adam. What does he mean by that thing? I'm sure I don't know, so I've not left the house. What happened here? Oh, she woke up screaming. She said someone would come into the room and torn off her beleges.

A nightmare of course. Please, I want to talk to Mr. Spade a little. Please, please, go. Adam, you're cool too. Please, Hillary, you're cool too. Good. Some questions I want to ask you, sweet Arnold.

Herbert, look here. Spade, look here. She just had a terrific shock. She shouldn't be quilt. Question of the code of detective Somebody was standing over me in the darkness and peering down at me. And I started to rip off my bandages and I screamed.

And one thing came into the room and he turned out in the lights, he was gone. It could have been a dream, Sam, and I could have been crying at the bandages myself in my sleep.

But you're worried it wasn't a dream. I've been talking to Captain Sherry. And then I thought, oh, how much do you know? That you've been feeding the old man truth, sir, and began to be talking asleep.

How much talking is he done? Well, play. How much you told Sherry? Well, that's as little as possible. Why? Because, Sam, if we can keep that old man alive and out of jail long enough to sell what we know to Sherry for what it's really worth, we'd be fools not to do it.

What makes you so sure you'll stay alive long enough to collect, sweetheart? Well, because you're going to help me, aren't you, Sam? So I helped her, but not for the reason she thought. I made a lot of noise, leaving her room and going to mine.

Going back, I didn't wear any shoes. I slipped into a clothes press and her room So quietly that even she didn't hear I left the door slightly at Jarr and waited Time passed and I was stiff from standing still It happened at about 3 a.m.

Crazy febriish glare of his eyes Told me in front of the gun and my hands Not nothing to him My jump to his side, twisted the knife away from Picked him up in my arms And carried him, kicking, clawing, and swearing Back to his bed He lay there, breathing hard Then he smiled.

You had me figured out the first time you came in here, didn't you? Not quite, Mr. Rexon. The gun under your window was the clincher. I'd gone. Sure. I had it under my pillow all the time. I got tired of shooting into door frames.

Like you're dying, Mr. Rexon. There's no use trying to make up stories now. You're right, son. I knew that nurse would sit up in bed after I fired tonight. And then, under that, I have it right through the screen.

Why? You know, I was, she was doping me up and sneaking in here at night and listening to what I was babbling about. Maybe you weren't saying anything important, Mr. Eksen. I might have done it.

I might have. 14 years ago, I killed my wife. I wanted to carry the secret. And nearly made it at that. Spade! What's happened? Yes, he did. Did he say anything? He said, did he confess it?

You must tell me if he said anything. I didn't hear him say a word. Well... Hmm... Yeah, Mr. Spade. Charge with a certain text yard, a significant quality. There's a certain smell, yes. Oh, and oh, man.

You can inhale itself. Journey thou to Nairobi on the felt. Taddy, seven days, and you will collect the fabulous Golden Skull of Wizami, King of the Bojamas. Ah! Marcus! Unhook the hookah! Pec the marmadade, we are off to the felts!

Just then a flock of birds broke across the horizon, screaming. There must have been thousands of them, but not Ibers, Mr. Exxon. Vultures. I suppose if you're gonna pay any attention to almonds, it's a good thing to know your birds.

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Well, I think we... It works after all. It just takes a little time, sweetheart. Oh, read the card, Sam. What? You see? You know you were supposed to see Mr. Jones at two o'clock. Isn't it wonderful?

Well, this card doesn't even mention Jones. Huh? What does it say, Sam? Well, it says Journey Thout of Frisken's drugstore, Weigh your five dollars and Ira W. in the third at Belmont Park. Oh, Sam and psychic!

Tarry but a moment. Yes. Thou wilt lose five bucks. Oh, the night's fain. Good night, sweetheart. Mmm. Mmm. Mmm. The Adventures of Sam's Fade. National Hamad's famous private detective are produced and directed by William Spears.

Sam's Fade is played by Howard Duff. Lorraine Tuttle is Ethel. The Adventures of Sam's Fade are written for radio by Bob Talman and Gil Dowd with Musical Direction by Lud Gluskin. This is Dick Joy reminding you that next Sunday, author Dashal Hammett and producer William Spear join forces for another adventure with Sam Spade, brought to you by

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